Dirty Thirty (Stephanie Plum, #30)(11)

“On the other hand, if Duncan Dugan had plans to off himself, he might have removed his laptop from the premises,” Lula said. “He might have given it to a friend or hidden it in a dumpster. Did he leave any clues regarding friends or activities?”

“No. Nothing. No framed photos. No bowling league trophies. The bookcase in his office was empty. No notes-to-self on his desktop. Just a blank pad. There was a Jeopardy! Brain Games book and a crossword puzzle book on an end table in the living room.”

“Most likely he’s too busy organizing his refrigerator to have much of a social life,” Lula said. “There’s only so many hours in the day. You can’t do it all.”

“Dugan didn’t have a lot of pots and pans. His kitchen looked a little like mine, except no hamster. There were two takeout containers in the trash. They were both from Mortin’s Deli. I’m guessing he eats takeout a lot.”

“I know Mortin’s Deli,” Lula said. “It’s excellent. It’s only two blocks from here. When you live two blocks from Mortin’s Deli there’s no reason to cook for yourself. I think we should investigate it to see if anyone knows Dugan. And while we’re there I could get some potato salad and a pastrami sandwich. They make a killer pastrami sandwich.”

Minutes later I parked in the small lot that was attached to the deli.

“We’re going into the deli,” I said to Bob. “You have to stay here. If you’re a good boy, I’ll bring you a treat.”

Bob gave me a steady stare.

“I wouldn’t take that as a definitively positive answer,” Lula said. “I don’t think he understands English.”

“He understands,” I said. “Don’t let that dumb look fool you.” I pointed my finger at Bob. “Listen, mister. I’m serious. If you so much as lick a piece of upholstery there’s no treat.”

I cracked a window, and Lula and I exited the car.

“Boy, you’re tough,” Lula said. “You even had me convinced for a minute.”

“Only a minute?”

“Yeah. I know you’ll cave. He could eat his way through the entire back seat, and you’ll still give him the treat if he gives you that I’m sorry look with his big brown eyes. You’re a sucker for brown eyes. I bet you never slept with a man with blue eyes.”

“My ex-husband had blue eyes.”

“Well, I guess that explains a lot.”

Mortin’s Deli had a few booths, but the bulk of their business was takeout. Cold cuts, cheeses, hot and cold entrées, salads, sides, sandwiches, soups. Carrot cake, cheesecake, decadent chocolate cake, and lemon meringue pie were displayed under glass domes on the counter. Two women were drinking coffee in a booth. An elderly man was checking out at the register. Lula and I went to the back of the deli, where the offerings of the day were written on a chalkboard attached to the wall.

“I want a tub of the egg potato salad,” Lula told the woman behind the counter. “Give me some with the little bacon sprinkles on top. And then I want a pastrami sandwich and a piece of the chocolate cake.”

The woman looked at me. “Would you like something as well?”

“Nothing for me,” I said, “but I was wondering about a friend. I know he got takeout here. Duncan Dugan. I went to his house just now and he wasn’t at home.”

“He’s a regular here,” she said. “Kale salad with grilled chicken. I haven’t seen him in a couple days.”

“Does he ever come in with anybody?”

“Sometimes he was with a woman. I think she might be his sister. At least, he calls her Sissy. She gets chicken salad on a croissant.”

“Dark brown hair cut short, medium build, and medium height?” I asked. “Kind of reminds you of Lucy from the Peanuts cartoon?”

“Yeah. They pay separate. Duncan pays with a credit card and the woman pays cash.”

“I don’t suppose you know her full name?”

“No. Like I said, she pays cash.”

“You better get something for Bob,” Lula said to me. “You promised him. He might like some of those big meatballs.”

“Two meatballs,” I said to the woman. “No sauce.”

Bob had his nose pressed against the window when we returned to the car. I gave him his treat and backed out of the parking space.

“I’m going to drop you and Bob at the office, and then I’m going to Rangeman. I want to talk to Ranger about Nutsy Manley,” I said.

“Are you gonna do a nooner with Ranger?”

“No! I’m going to talk to him.”

“Just sayin’ on account of if it was me, and my boyfriend was out of town, and I had the opportunity, I’d definitely squeeze in a nooner.”





CHAPTER THREE




Rangeman is located on a quiet side street in downtown Trenton. On the outside it’s an inconspicuous seven-story building with a gated underground garage.

On the inside it’s pleasantly slick, intimidatingly secure, filled with cutting-edge technology and a highly skilled workforce. Ranger has a private one-bedroom apartment on the top floor. The fifth floor is dedicated to offices, a café, and the control room. The other floors serve various purposes. A gym, a shooting range, dorm rooms, conference rooms, and more offices.